Perhaps the morning sunlight had been too brilliant. Wispy clouds had begun to gather across the sky, and their gauzy veil kept the midday sun from becoming too harsh.
In Loc Muinne's central square, Iorveth watched from a distance as Victor exchanged bodily fluids with the young coiffeuse, kissing her goodbye with obvious reluctance. The elf felt as though he'd been force-fed a ton of nauseatingly sweet romance.
Of course, he wouldn't have described it that way. But across every world in existence, some feelings were universal.
The brown-eyed sorceress was the second person Victor had driven out of the square.
Before her had been a middle-aged merchant with a hooked nose. Victor had given him a formula and strongly urged him to leave the city immediately.
Finally, after waiting ten minutes, the sorceress who moonlighted as a coiffeuse also departed reluctantly with a formula in hand.
The moment she was gone, Iorveth walked over to Victor.
He was already irritable from worrying about Saskia, and Victor's dawdling annoyed him even more. Yet the mysterious, knowing curve at the corner of the witcher's mouth kept him from losing his temper.
It was the smile of someone who believed everything was under control.
"Can you tell me what exactly is going on? You rushed all the way to this square just to drive away two merchants?"
"Hey! Don't be so impatient. I'll explain while we walk."
Victor started moving again, continuing toward the amphitheatre.
"The two merchants were Bras of Ban Ard and Felicia Cori. They're both friends of mine. I want at least those two to get out of this quagmire in time. More importantly, they're probably the only ones who would actually believe me."
"The way you're talking, you'd think this city was about to experience another Thanedd coup... or another massacre of Loc Muinne," Iorveth mocked dryly.
"You're right. I'm making a prediction right here and now. What happens this time will be at least as chaotic as the Thanedd coup.
"And in the worst-case scenario, I wouldn't be surprised if this city witnesses another massacre. Only this time, the blades will be pointed at spellcasters."
"Vic, are you joking? Those are mages we're talking about!"
The elf looked at the witcher with a grave expression.
The knowing curve at the corner of Victor's mouth became even more mysterious.
"Ior, I've never been more serious. Those are kings we're talking about.
"Rebuilding the Council of Mages is merely an excuse. The mages want to squeeze as many privileges as possible out of this summit, but the most important rulers of the North didn't gather here to put mages back on their pedestal. They're here to establish a balance of power and divide their spheres of influence.
"Ever since the Thanedd coup forced spellcasters to briefly withdraw from center stage, dimeritium has become widely used, while public opinion toward mages has deteriorated. Their vulnerability has been laid bare.
"Kings no longer need to tolerate outsiders telling them how to rule. Now it's the mages who need the mercy of the Northern Kingdoms.
"The amphitheatre where they're holding the meeting is itself protected by an anti-magic field, the same sort that was used on Thanedd Island. The age when mages could act with impunity is over. They're about to learn their place."
Victor's chilling, bloody assessment revealed the true nature of the summit to Iorveth.
Following the clues Victor had given him, the elf suddenly thought of a dangerous possibility.
The next instant, a chill ran down his spine.
Could it be that I'm standing at one of history's turning points?
...
With each occupied by his own thoughts, the two finally arrived at the pride of Loc Muinne, the circular amphitheatre.
Victor looked up.
Built against the mountainside, the structure was semicircular in design. The elves had used arches and vaults to support the tiers of seating, then joined two semicircular theatres together to form what was known as an amphitheatre.
Colonnades and exquisitely carved beams decorated the galleries, while headless statues stood among them.
The performance grounds could accommodate tens of thousands of spectators. Considerable thought had gone into the entrances and exits, with multiple levels directing different streams of people and preventing congestion or chaos.
The layout reminded Victor strongly of the great stadiums from his previous life.
"You use Axii on them, then we go up there and deal with them?"
Seeing only six guards at the entrance, Iorveth immediately wanted to act.
Victor raised a hand to stop him.
"Wait. Someone's coming from inside."
Sure enough, a group of several dozen people soon emerged.
The elf was surprised to recognize them.
Leading the group was none other than Seltkirk's younger brother, Silgrat of Gulet, one of Aedirn's noble representatives.
Noticing Victor and Iorveth standing nearby, Silgrat raised a hand to stop his party, then walked directly toward them.
Although they had fought side by side in Vergen, Silgrat, unsurprisingly, chose to completely ignore Iorveth.
"My dear Victor, what a surprise to see you here. What are you doing? Ah, I know. You're looking for Saskia."
"That's right, brave Silgrat, brother of Seltkirk. What about you?"
The nobleman brushed imaginary dust from his shoulder.
"As His Majesty Stennis's envoy, I came to inform the honored kings that Aedirn's rightful heir has inherited the throne, and peace will soon return to Aedirn.
"He was crowned in Vengerberg not long ago, but because many urgent matters require his attention, he sent me here to convey his greetings and sign any joint resolutions on his behalf. I've just finished speaking and was preparing to return home early."
"His Majesty Stennis..."
Victor smiled as he spoke the respectful title.
He couldn't help remembering the night of Vergen's victory, the expression on Prince Stennis's face when Victor released him, and the backroom deal the two of them had struck.
...
Prince Stennis as he had once been.
When speaking to serfs, he had trembled with disgust. When speaking to Victor, contempt and disdain had poured from his mouth like vomit.
A prisoner, a coward, and a schemer?
Even in the end, Victor had never figured out exactly how deeply Stennis had been involved in Saskia's poisoning.
But that didn't stop him from giving the prince a chance.
Stennis did not deserve to die for it.
That was not the justice Saskia sought.
Prince Stennis, son of Demavend III, became the seventeenth king of Aedirn.
Through the victory at Vergen, he had won the support of people elsewhere in the kingdom. They viewed him as the hope of the nation.
A country devastated by war needed a ruler who cared about the suffering of his subjects.
Victor didn't know whether Stennis I would become that ruler...
But then again, he hadn't exactly had another choice.
...
"So His Majesty Stennis sent you here to recognize Saskia's Republic?"
Silgrat naturally interpreted Victor's mysterious smile as happiness over Stennis's accession, which improved his opinion of the witcher even further.
"Exactly. In light of the Virgin's achievements, His Majesty has decided to recognize her position. And with the Dragonslayer guarding the North, Henselt's route south has now been completely cut off.
"I must say, this has been quite an impressive summit. His Majesty Radovid, that scoundrel Henselt, Regent Natalis...
"It's only a shame not every kingdom sent representatives. The mages wanted to invite everyone, but there simply wasn't enough time to organize it properly."
"I heard Nilfgaard's delegation is participating too?"
"Ah... that old dog Shilard. It's disgraceful. Henselt was the one who invited them here. At this rate, he'll probably invite the Black Ones to attend his wartime councils next."
Victor burst out laughing.
"Your tongue is vicious in exactly the right way, Sir Silgrat. Now do me a favor. I want to go inside and speak with Saskia, but I don't have anything proving my identity. Perhaps you could announce me?"
"Viscount Corion needn't be so courteous. His Majesty asked me to bring you a message."
Silgrat raised a hand to his chest.
"Victor Corion, you will always be a loyal friend of Aedirn."
Listening nearby, Iorveth raised an eyebrow.
He was stunned by the witcher's negotiating ability.
The Scoia'tael had been responsible for watching the prince, so of course Iorveth knew Victor had gone to bargain with Stennis.
As far as the elf knew, after the matter of drawing his blood, the honorable prince had originally wanted nothing more than to see the witcher hanging from a noose.
Yet after a single night and one perfectly executed backroom deal, Victor had undergone a magnificent transformation and become a loyal friend of Aedirn.
The human world truly was remarkable.
"And I, Silgrat of Gulet, am always happy to serve a friend."
After saying that, the nobleman motioned for the two to follow.
He returned to the entrance and exchanged a few words with the guards.
The soldiers immediately straightened respectfully. Without asking a single question, they courteously welcomed an internationally notorious terrorist and a mutant freak into the summit.
...
Inside the amphitheatre, the stands consisted of three levels of barrel-vaulted concrete structures. Each level contained eighty arches, forming three concentric arcaded galleries at different heights, while the highest level rose into a solid wall fifty meters tall.
Each successive tier of seating receded farther back, creating a stepped incline.
The eighty arches on every level created eighty openings, while the upper two levels also possessed eighty window openings.
The theatre was packed.
Some people wore robes, others armor. Some stood, others sat. They were mages who had come to witness the proceedings or soldiers brought by the assembled kings.
Inside the magnificent structure, Victor could physically feel the intense interference caused by the anti-magic field.
Casting Signs here was extremely difficult, and even if one succeeded, its effects would be greatly weakened.
A small number of amplification spells still functioned, however, broadcasting every word spoken in the arena to all the spectators.
Victor's enhanced eyesight focused on the center of the theatre.
The mage presiding over the meeting took out a stack of documents and handed them to guards for distribution.
"Thank you for your statement of support, Queen Saskia. Now, let us continue with the current matter.
"As previously established, these documents describe the operating rules and jurisdiction of the Council of Mages. They are all beneficial regulations that had been successfully observed for many years before the Thanedd coup."
Victor studied the speaker.
The mage wore red robes and a square academic cap.
Victor guessed that he was Carduin of Lan Exeter, the man who had convened the summit.
Standing behind him was Síle de Tansarville.
The sorceress still wore her familiar horn-shaped coiffure and black formal dress, looking elegant and dignified.
The presence of Radovid, Henselt, Natalis, Shilard, and the others was entirely expected.
But the most important person was naturally that woman.
Saskia, the Virgin of Aedirn.
The moment Iorveth saw the Dragonslayer, no...
Perhaps she should be called the Dragon Maiden now.
The elf felt an immediate urge to run toward her.
But after personally witnessing this magnificent and imposing stage, and remembering the dangerous possibility that had occurred to him on their way here, he forced himself to calm down.
"Vic, what do we do now?"
The witcher shook his head without answering.
Carduin's words carried clearly through the amphitheatre thanks to the amplification magic. His tone was solemn and measured.
"...At this point, I must emphasize the issue of appointing royal advisers.
"Today, the courts of many kingdoms casually select mages and sorceresses to serve as advisers. But during the previous era of the Council of Mages, those individuals were chosen only after rigorous consideration."
Radovid briefly flipped through the document before becoming the first to question it.
"Why shouldn't a king be free to choose his own adviser?"
Carduin bowed slightly.
"Your Majesty, these advisers bear tremendous responsibilities. The Council of Mages must ensure that they are capable of fulfilling them."
"And ensure that they remember the issues the Council of Mages happens to care about," Radovid added, narrowing his eyes unhappily.
The mage representative spread his hands.
"Your Majesty, please believe me when I say that the Council of Mages places the welfare and prosperity of the Northern Kingdoms above all else.
"Every mage nominated to join the Council, and every individual assigned as an adviser, must sign this document. It ensures that they will dedicate themselves wholeheartedly to serving the kingdom they advise."
"Tsk, tsk. Without a royal seal, the most you'll be appointing advisers for are shepherds."
Radovid shook his head with a cold smile, his gaze sliding toward the Nilfgaardian ambassador, Shilard.
Henselt snapped the document shut.
"Radovid has a point. I should warn you now as well, Kaedwen needs advisers, but it does not need overbearing ones!"
The kings were clearly dissatisfied with the proposal.
Yet without another factor interfering, ancient tradition would most likely be accepted by default and restored.
At that moment, Nilfgaardian ambassador Shilard Fitz-Oesterlen, who had remained silent since the beginning of the meeting, suddenly spoke.
"Honored Majesties, before you sign that document, please allow me to say a few words."
The unexpected interruption gave Carduin an uneasy feeling.
"With all due respect, Your Excellency, this matter has nothing to do with Nilfgaard."
"King Henselt invited me here. Are you attempting to deny me the right to speak?"
The white-haired ambassador's voice was cold.
Faced with such a sharp response, Carduin chose silence.
None of the kings spoke either.
There was therefore no one left in the arena who could prevent Shilard from continuing.
...
At that moment, Iorveth noticed Victor doing something strange beside him.
The witcher had taken vial after vial from the Endless Herbal Satchel and was drinking them one after another.
They all appeared to be the witcher's highly toxic potions, because strange markings quickly began appearing across Victor's face, beautiful patterns resembling elven war paint.
And the more potions he drank, the brighter the markings became and the more elaborate their patterns grew.
"You... what exactly are you doing?"
Seeing no sign that Victor intended to stop drinking, the elf finally couldn't resist asking.
Victor gave a bitter chuckle.
"Heh, heh, heh. Just preparing for battle. A prophet with limitations is still a prophet with limitations. Only now that it's happening do I finally understand..."
When the imposing figure ahead was brought out under guard, Victor finally understood how the Northern Kingdoms' hatred of mages in his previous-life memories had begun.
He also understood that the witch hunts of the future had become unavoidable.
Nothing beneath heaven or earth could escape his sight.
Sorrow and resignation reflected in the depths of the Blue Rinnegan, while fierce determination surged within Victor's chest.
"Ior, remember what you're about to see. It's the only thing we can do right now.
"At this moment, we're merely witnesses.
"But someday, in the future..."
...
Clouds drifted and curled across the afternoon sky, the wispy formations gradually thickening.
Half a city away from the amphitheatre, near the Scoia'tael camp, Angoulême stood at the highest point of a ruined tower.
With Eagle Eye vision, she gazed into the wind.
She enjoyed the sensation.
It made her feel as though she had become an extension of the city itself.
Then suddenly...
The noisy wind carried a familiar whisper.
Her caterpillar-like eyebrows lifted.
A moment later, she performed a Leap of Faith from the top of the tower and rushed into the camp to don her armor and prepare for battle.
Because the familiar roar rolling across the distance was unmistakable.
"Fus... Ro... Dah!"
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